


grief is a cold, raw thing

by invictxs



Series: Astrid - Avvar healer and (hopeful) revolutionary [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Tabletop RPG), Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Grief/Mourning, Magic, Minor Character Death, Original Character Death(s), Spirits
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-15
Updated: 2019-01-15
Packaged: 2019-10-10 11:14:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17424833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/invictxs/pseuds/invictxs
Summary: Do you ever wonder how much more you can lose without dying yourself?(A short thing written after the events of one of our tabletop RPG sessions.)





	grief is a cold, raw thing

            She lies awake until late into the night. There’s a stifling emptiness inside her; it feels like the eye of the storm. She doesn’t want to sleep. She’s afraid of what she’ll see. Rig sleeps uneasily nearby.

            When it’s quiet and dark and she can’t stand it anymore, Astrid rises shakily. She moves as she would through the Fade. It might as well be the Fade, for how surreal it feels. Her father had always felt tall and old, impossibly wise.

 

            Ice creeps outwards from her as she stands at edge of the pool below the waterfall. Crunch goes the ice when she steps out, but it holds her weight. Mana rushes out of her, freezing the water around her solid. If she had been in any state to notice, she would’ve seen the ice push back against the waterfall. It looks beautiful but sharp enough to cut, in the way that cold things are.

            It’s not until her breath turns the air white that she realises she can’t feel her arms or legs. Frozen tears burn against her face, and a bone deep weariness claws at her. Her breath hiccups in her chest. She wants to sit down, she thinks. Curl into a ball somewhere dark. Pretend that everything is fine, just for a little while.

             _That’s enough_. Gentle fingers curl around her arm, guiding her towards the shore. Resistance is only a fleeting thought. She doesn’t want to be cold. Not really.

            “I’m sorry,” she says, because gods she is. “I tried.” She chokes on the pressure building behind her throat. Tried seemed to be the best she could manage. Hilda, Braxis, Sithig. Gone. Just blood and bone, leftover fragments.

            Fear floods her, thinking of what comes after. She doesn’t want what comes after the sky burial; they’ll look to her as Sithig’s daughter. It’s not something she can live up to. Compassion is her teacher for a reason; she’s never been very good at being kind and patient. Comforting the children and reassuring the Hold, calming the gods, all the little things her father had done that she never even noticed-

            She’s so tired of burying the people she loves.

 

            Her knees hit the cold, packed soil. Warm arms loop around her torso. Behind her closed eyes, she sees the impression of gold. It’s painfully warm against the cold.

            _Sleep now_. _You’ve done enough. It was enough._

 


End file.
